


but she's looking at me, straight to center

by rayguntomyhead



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: F/F, Romantic Fluff, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayguntomyhead/pseuds/rayguntomyhead
Summary: A shock of pink pigtails catch the last rays of sun, a vibrant outlier among the weathered, craggy, taupes of the roof; exactly what Ellie predicted. Without so much as a coat, Yukio sits, cross-legged, unmoving, each wrist set elegantly on each knee. She doesn’t turn her head even though she must know Ellie’s here. Ellie's been a lot of things in her life but subtle… yeah, that's definitely not been one of them. Not like the trapdoor on the roof was silent either. There might have been low mumblings about disappearing girlfriends and houses ridiculous enough to have fucking trapdoors.
Relationships: Ellie Phimister/Yukio (Deadpool Movies)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	but she's looking at me, straight to center

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tide_ms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tide_ms/gifts).



A shock of pink pigtails catch the last rays of sun, a vibrant outlier among the weathered, craggy, taupes of the roof; exactly what Ellie predicted. Without so much as a coat, Yukio sits, cross-legged, unmoving, each wrist set elegantly on each knee. She doesn’t turn her head even though she must know Ellie’s here. Ellie's been a lot of things in her life but subtle… yeah, that's definitely not been one of them. Not like the trapdoor on the roof she'd just crawled up out of was silent either. There also, might possibly havebeen low mumblings about disappearing girlfriends and houses ridiculous enough to have fucking _trapdoors_.

“Finally came up here to join me?” Yukio says. Ellie startles.

“I would have earlier,” she says, scuffing her boot against the scattering loose gravelly bits as she picks her way closer. “If _someone_ would have mentioned their post-hijinks de-stressing plan included a scenic meditation on the roof.”

Yukio twists sideways, just enough she can catch Ellie’s scowl.

“Of course,” she says. The edge of her mouth quirks slightly up. “It’s a good thing you know _someone_ so well.”

Ellie’s chest gives a funny little throb. She hums in mock exasperation, kicks a little shard skittering over the ground in Yukio’s general direction. And she might draw the banter out a little, find a way to return the sentiment, except Ellie can practically see the wind chilling over Yukio’s arms, the raising goosebumps. She frowns, sets the thermos of tea down on a fairly stable looking patch of roof and drapes the blanket tucked under her other arm over Yukio. Idiot. Not even a damn jacket.

Ellie takes her time, smoothing the rough, wool blanket over Yukio’s shoulder. She draws the seconds out, leans in enough she can just nuzzle at the soft edge of Yukio’s hair. The scent of herbal conditioner is just there, under the stink of smoke. It always took a few washes, at least, before their hair stopped smelling of it.

“C’mon, sit,” Yukio says, grins wider as she twists to reach a hand up to cup Ellie’s cheek. “If you’re going to join me, you might as well make yourself useful. With _cuddles._ ”

“Right, right,” Ellie says. “Only if I _must_.”

Which is a filthy blatant lie, but Yukio knows that, knows Ellie like she always does and it’s not what she would have thought, the two of them. Yukio needed people, needed the connection after a mission, needed to touch, to feel alive. But for Ellie… the urge had never stopped really, even after coming to this benign façade of a school; the instinctive need to hide to lick her wounds.

So, Ellie followed Yukio into the kitchen to eat breakfast with the rest of the noisy assortment of early risers. She joined her at plays, at weird eclectic outdoor art exhibitions, at the queer book group Yukio had started with nothing more than stubborn belief and the grim refusal to give up.

And Yukio came up here, or to one of the unused rooms, to the hidden, lonely spots on the estate, so Ellie could follow. They would drink their tea together, side by side, watching pale fingers of light stretch out from between the staggered tree line, curving their bodies around each other.

“You must,” Yukio says with a bob of her head, and flips open the corner of the blanket invitingly. “Oo, did you bring my Souchong up with you?”

Ellie grins as she settles in close against Yukio’s side, passing over the thermos of tea.

“Yes, I brought your smoked monstrosity,” she says. “What you see in tea flavored with smoke I’ll never know, it's not like we don't inhale enough of it on a weekly basis.”

Yukio leans into Ellie’s weight, resting her head against Ellie’s shoulder and slipping an arm around her waist.

“That's why I like it,” Yukio says. "It tastes like remembering. Like surviving."

She nudges her forehead into the crook of Ellie’s neck, humming as they tangle around each other. Safe. Together. Ellie pulls her close, breathes in smoke and wool and herbal conditioner and _home._

"Yeah," she says, and drops a kiss on Yukio’s hair.


End file.
